


with all this love

by brownest_goldfish_intheair



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sehnsucht
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownest_goldfish_intheair/pseuds/brownest_goldfish_intheair
Summary: "Throughout her life, Tatiana had met many people; gotten to know them, worked with them, laughed and cried with them. And sometimes, when a job was done, ended up with her legs wrapped around them in a nicely furnished hotel room or in the back seat of an expensive car."
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Tatiana, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	with all this love

Whenever Andrés, Martín and Tatiana entered a room, all eyes turned. This, Tatiana was well aware, wasn’t only because they were beautiful to look at, well-dressed and slightly intimidating: It was Andrés’ hands, and eyes, and lips. He had his fingers interlocked with Tatiana’s on one side and was touching the small of Martín’s back on the other, his gaze wandered back and forth between them when he talked, with clearly more attention devoted to Martín, and whenever he kissed Tatiana’s cheek, he also kissed Martín’s.

Tatiana could imagine what people thought: Poor, oblivious woman, so blinded by love, she will never realise her husband is actually in love with another man.

But she had learned early on not to care. She'd smiled and let people assume she was nothing but rich and pretty, content because she had nothing to lose.

She had watched so many of her friends give into elegant, promising men, holding out their hands and talking about bright futures. And she’d watched them sip bourbon for breakfast and pack their clothes and their kids into a car with empty eyes and trembling lips. They had become dependent; contestable. All their intellect and charm gone along with their dignity because they’d wanted to _belong to someone_.

Throughout her life, Tatiana had met many people; gotten to know them, worked with them, laughed and cried with them. And sometimes, when a job was done, ended up with her legs wrapped around them in a nicely furnished hotel room or in the back seat of an expensive car.  
But never had she made an effort to keep them around – because she’d seen how it ended when you were scared of being alone.

With Andrés, it wasn’t any different: He had flirted at first, used all his best tricks to seduce her. And she’d let him; giggled and nodded and enjoyed herself until he ordered her third drink.

“I want to steal diamonds in Paris.” She then said, leaning in close to his ear. “And you seem to be so eager to make someone wife. I’m not sure why, but I’m in if you are.”

Maybe it was that – the fact that she never asked, never pushed – that made him tell her the truth in the end. About him and Martín; the lingering looks and the soft touches.  
“I can’t have him watch me die. It would break him.” He’d explained slowly and she twisted her engagement ring around her finger. How much must it already have broken him to see you get married four times? "He has to give up on me, or he’ll always follow me.I have to make him believe I never want to see him again.”  
“Because of your wife.” She said and he nodded, not looking away from the spot he was fixating on the wall.  
“And if… If you weren’t dying?” She asked, her heart unexpectantly speeding up when the words left her lips. He chuckled and slowly met her eyes.  
“Oh, but I am.” He smiled.

Now, Tatiana may have not been one to get attached, but she wasn’t a _monster_. When she saw someone she liked suffer, she wanted to ease their pain. And whenever Andrés talked about leaving Martín like it meant giving away his own life, her first instinct was to hug. But she knew he wouldn’t let her. So she let him fuck her instead. As hard as and in every way he desired. She didn’t mind her body being used, if she could give a little comfort with it.

With Martín, giving comfort was different: They became friends quickly. This was strange too because Tatiana had never truly considered anyone a _friend_ before; never felt that bad for constantly lying to someone. When she thought about it, maybe _she_ wasn’t being a real friend, but it was surely as close as she would get. Him, she _could_ hug. And every time she did, it was a silent _I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re suffering. I’m sorry I’m the reason for it._

“I’m glad it’s you.” He’d said to the night her and Andrés got engaged. “I’m glad it’s you who gets to be with him.” _If it can’t be me._ There was a silent understanding between them, always. They never had to say it out loud, that Martín was in love with Andrés. Like one never talks about how humans breathe air or snow is cold.

But what only she knew was that Andrés felt exactly the same kind of frustration; the same kind of longing whenever his fingers made contact with Martín’s skin. She highly doubted that Andrés _himself_ knew. That he was aware of just how much he _loved_ Martín – in every way a person could love another.

  
Tatiana had never believed in love. Not when Elise with her soft French accent and her short curly hair had asked her to run away with her, not when Fernando with his blue eyes and his scarred hands had gotten on his knees in the shabby motel room with the broken LED lights and whispered "don't leave", and not when Clara with her warm laugh and her long legs had zipped up her dress and met her eyes in the gold-framed mirror.

To her, it was all nothing but a cage, offered with the sweetest words possible. And she simply refused to listen.

But when she and Andrés entered the monastery the evening they'd returned from Venice, when he paced the floors, just a little _too_ quickly, his hands shaking just a little _too_ much, when his gaze travelled around the chapel, somehow scared and hopeful at the same time, as if Martín would suddenly appear in one of the dark, dusty corners, as if he hadn’t just cast him out and left the city to give him time to pack his things, she realised that Andrés and Martín had given love a different sound, one that had reached her ears without her noticing.

She stood silently while he started picking up all the torn papers from the ground, assembling the pieces of his and Martín’s joined calligraphies with careful, tender touches. She watched for a few seconds and then left the room. It felt like she was intruding on something sacred, something that simply wasn’t hers to touch.

She sat in the living room, by the fire, from where she had often listened to the two of them talk in hushed but excited voices when they were working on the plan.

Andrés didn’t show up for a long while. After certainly more time than it would have taken to clean the entire chapel, she went to look, carefully moving around the corner, ready to retreat at any moment. She breathed out when she found the chapel empty; then involuntarily put a hand to her chest when she let her eyes wander and saw all the perfectly stacked up drawings and calculations, resting on the desk Martín had sat at every night, sometimes until his eyes were falling shut and Andrés dragged him to bed in the first rays of sunlight.

At first, she made her way to hers Andrés' former bedroom, but she changed directions before she reached the door.  
And of course, _of course_ , it was like a bang going through her brain because she suddenly _understood_ , she found Andrés in Martín’s room, curled up in his bed and wearing one of his old, long-sleeved shirts that he’d always told him to throw out.

He flinched ever so slightly when she sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully put a hand on his arm. He was turned away from her, but she could feel his body shake, knew that he was crying – for once not because he wanted to get something from someone, but because he couldn’t help it.

“Shh.” She whispered and stroked his upper arm with her thumb, trying to provide as much comfort as she could without getting too close. “I know.”  
“I love him.” His words made her swallow hard. They were too bland, too raw, too _honest_ for this man so fond of long-winded sentenced and vague phrases.  
“I know.” She repeated, her voice gentle and heavy with empathy.

“Please go.” He sniffed, curling more into himself. She continued stroking his arm for a moment, then pulled her hand back.  
“Of course.” She nodded. “But you know I’m here, right? If you want to talk, or to be held, I’m here.” He nodded his head, the movement so quick she could have easily missed it if she hadn’t paid attention.  
“Okay.” She whispered and moved to place a soft kiss on his temple before she got up and moved over to the door, taking a last look at the man everyone except for her called her husband and then quietly closed it behind her.

Tatiana had been wrong: It wasn’t about the fear of being alone. Because Andrés wasn’t scared of being alone – just like her, he’d learned to get by on his own a long time ago. It was not that he didn’t want to be alone, he just didn’t want to be without _Martín_.  
It was real and it was rare and it was beautiful and the universe had broken it into a million pieces as if it meant nothing. And Tatiana would have given away all the lovers she’d ever had; taken back every kiss she’d ever given, in a heartbeat, if it meant that these two men could be happy. But that, she though while she walked down the corridor and let the memories wash over her like salty, calm waves, had never been for her to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading xx


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